The first week in nyc has been a strange one, a cross between grueling packing and unpacking, shifting and rearranging. The apartment has changed numerous times as I argued with D over where furniture should go, and what looked best where. It is odd how the same objects look and behave differently in a different sized/shaped place, objects that were deemed practical in Richmond have lost their purpose here. The # 4J made moving in a real pleasure—at least more of a task than that of moving out—even more enjoyable than a seven hour truck ride with a rather doped up, carsick, and miserable Boo. The apartment is now caught in a stage of livable confusion, it has come a long way since the box filled moment of my beginning, but it has a long way yet to go.

Simultaneously I have been host, guest, tour guide (if a one), and a tourist. The wonderful thing about having friends only blocks away (for the first time in a long while) is they want to help settle you in. I was shown all the most important places, mainly where to buy wholesale beer and organic vegetables, but the tour also included restaurants, hardware stores, and other neighborhood necessities. Sightseeing with D gave me the short-lived opportunity of being a guide and tourist all-at-once, resident and out-of-state visitor. We visited international territory, a spectacularly large hole near Wall St, the Village of the center and both sides; we even walked from 42nd street to 13th.

And in the background of all this lurks the real questions (or concerns?), most of which pertain to the immediate now and to the distant future. What this city will dredge up for me is something of a mystery, like the vibe of the city itself. I am afraid to leave for fear of wanting to come back. I would rather stay and struggle than realize, at this moment, that I like it. Like meeting new people, it takes me a while to warm up to a new place, especially one as shifting as nyc. I wonder if west coasters belong in the east, or if nomadic youths belong in the city, or if anyone really belongs here at all. I bounce from one end of the city to the other, excited by the possibility of being able to go so far and see so much, but I find each neighborhood as unlikely as the next. Everything moves so fast—jobs, apartments, ideas, trends, tastes— I am observing only a whirlwind mixture. As much as people in general avoid discomfort, like poverty there is a lovely feeling to being displaced, undecided, and out of sync. The realm of possibility feels larger when there is no schedule, no routine, and no certainty.